The Swedish Blade
by Blank-Page-Emperor
Summary: There's a new warrior in town, and he's in Japan to stop something really bad. KK, SM, AM, the works...It's PG right now, but you just wait...
1. Wilkholm's Arrival, Part 1

Longish, but do give it a shot!  
  
For my next act (or fanfic)...  
  
Rurouni Kenshin! And do bear with me, okay?  
  
I can't very well remember the names of various attacks and styles from the show. Heck, I don't know half their last names. I've only seen what's been aired on Cartoon Network, so if I don't know your favorite character, then that's just too bad!  
  
You could help me out with that, I suppose, but this takes place right after Kenshin defeats Shishio. And let me tell you, this thing will get very violent in the second chapter (I think), but I don't go into that much detail with that kind of thing (i.e. blood, internal organs hanging out, etc. It's not something I really enjoy writing about.)  
  
Everything in this is done according to my American upbringing, so it's Kenshin Himura, not Himura Kenshin. Get used to it if you're not.  
  
If you can, correct any spelling mistakes that I repeat. It's embarrassing, really.  
  
Some of this is based on actual events. My dates could be faulty, though.  
  
Anyway, a super-special THANK YOU to the band BLINDSIDE!! YEAH!! YOU GUYS ROCK!!  
  
I got some names out of the liner notes from "Silence." And they're from our new friend's country, which originally inspired my interest in that part of my world.  
  
NOW, for the important part:  
  
I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, its manga, or anime series. In fact, I don't own a single bit of merchandise from the show/manga/etc. Know this, though: the large, muscular, blonde in the story is mine, and if you steal him, then you'll have to deal with the big guy yourself, and I'll be there to laugh at you...  
  
...you silly plagiarizing fool. And now, without further ado or threatening of life, limb, or property:  
  
"Rurouni Kenshin: The Swedish Blade"  
  
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Chapter 1: Part 1  
  
It was late on a July night, about 10:37 pm Japanese time, to be more precise. A passenger train's whistle blew loudly as it clamored down the tracks towards Kyoto Station. After the steam locomotive screeched to a halt, the doors opened to let the passengers off. From most of the cars, the people filed out, tourists, businessmen, and commoners alike. However, from a certain cabin, only one form emerged, and it was a giant among those nearby. The man was more than seven-and-a-half feet tall, and extremely muscular. He obviously wasn't Japanese, as his hair was a light blonde. It was swept back neatly into a ponytail. In the moonlight, his blue eyes shone brilliantly. The hulking form mostly wore blue and yellow, his home country's colors. His coat was reasonably fashionable, and navy blue, with golden buttons. Beneath, his shirt and pants were the dull grayish-blue of a special division of a certain northern-European military. On the foreigner's broad hands were black and yellow leather gloves. His leather and iron boots, the most rugged visible feature, aside from his stature, shone a dark gray, nearly black. Any embroidery on his outfit was done in yellow stitching. But he didn't believe in being too fancy. The most brilliant object on him hung from a silver chain around his thick neck. It was a small, golden Cross pendant. Inversely, one would have to notice the strange, shadowy form that could be seen on his right shoulder. The man took a look around, noting how most buildings were wooden.  
  
"So this is Kyoto?" he pondered aloud, having a reasonably deep voice. His accent was thick with Scandinavian. In a few moments, a local police officer addressed the great figure.  
  
"Mr. W-Wilkholm?" the deputy asked, quivering in the giant's shadow.  
  
"That would be me. I don't suppose you could escort me to the local law-enforcement establishment, could you?"  
  
"N-no problem, sir! Right this way!"  
  
After walking a few reasonably deserted streets, the pair arrived at a large, two-story building. The shorter man opened a door for the foreigner, and Wilkholm followed the lantern-lit signs until he reached the office of the man he needed to see. The mighty guest sat down to join Hajime Saito for some tea over candlelight, and to discuss matters of national security.  
  
"I trust your ride was comfortable, Tomas?" the manslayer-turned- policeman asked.  
  
"Very. You Japanese have come a long way since then," the great European complemented, thinking of the country under the Shogunate. He took a sip of his tea, and couldn't help but notice how Saito had begun to stare at the weapon on his back. The thing was nearly thirteen feet long, three of which were taken up by the enormous blade. The handle was like a young tree trunk, and only someone with hands as big as Wilkholm's could even hold it. And his palms were larger than most men's heads. "So you've noticed my pike."  
  
"That thing is massive. How do you even carry it?"  
  
"You forget that I'm younger than you are, Hajime. And I've been training with these things before I visited you all those years ago."  
  
"How much does it weigh?"  
  
"About two hundred and fifty pounds, give or take."  
  
Saito spat out his tea, and gave Tomas a skeptical look.  
  
"You're lying!" the policeman accused.  
  
"Nope," the foreigner disagreed. "I'd prove it, but I don't care to break anything."  
  
"You always were one to be illogical. What do you call something like that?"  
  
"A really big stick."  
  
"Tomas."  
  
"Well, good question," Wilkholm pondered, dropping his humor. "Well, it's from the family of weapons known as Swedish Heavy Pikes, and this is as large as they get. It's known as a Great Pike, and that's just what I call it, I figure. This one's different from most, as the handle's been reinforced with steel in many places. Makes it good and heavy. The armor comes out into blades, actually. If you're confused, just take a look at this baby."  
  
The knight forgot the warning he had given earlier. He got up, grabbed the harness on his back, and undid a few straps. The great pike started to fall, but the soldier spun and carefully caught it before it fell a foot from the ground. He came back around and shot the colossal head within an inch of Saito's face. The Japanese man also stood, lit a cigarette, and looked around the side of the elongated arc of shining metal. The staff portion consisted of several hand-holds and tempered steel plates that formed ridges which somewhat-emulated eight reverse-blade swords for a few feet each. The weapon apparently had no weaknesses. There was an eerie silence for several minutes as Tomas beamed and Hajime pondered the structure. Just then, Saito realized that Wilkholm had been holding it with only one hand the whole time. He dropped his cigarette in awe, stooped to pick it up, and continued his wide-eyed gaze. The policeman was finally able to say:  
  
"Well, you seem to have quite the skill. Nice pike."  
  
"And I'll tell you this much: you could feed half of Japan a good three-course meal for what it cost to make! The king held a tournament to decide who could get the thing. I won, but some of those crazy warriors put up quite a fight for it."  
  
The Scandinavian brought his weapon behind him, redid a few harnesses, and sat back down. He realized that he was quite off track and quit grinning. Saito also reclined once more, though he had gotten quite a shock.  
  
"It figures why they call you 'The Swedish Blade,' Tomas," the policeman said.  
  
"So, how's the wife?" the Swede asked nonchalantly, trying to avoid a formal tone.  
  
"She's doing alright. And Elena?" Hajime queried, turning the question back at his guest.  
  
"We're expecting our first child in several months. Can't be sure, but she gets these hunches, and Elena's usually right. We don't have a name yet, but I intend to be back in time."  
  
"Now, let's not forget that you're here on official business. Top- secret, in fact."  
  
"That's correct. Swedish foreign correspondents are telling us something big and nasty has found its way to Japan," Wilkholm explained.  
  
"I'll be the judge of that, though I've heard a little bit about it. Something about a Russian war criminal."  
  
"Yeah, his name is Dragomir Yanalimov. He was an officer in the Russian military. According to army records, he and his Cossack warriors refused to use firearms, and were all excellent axemen and swordsmen, many on the level of the manslayers of your revolution. Yanalimov is by far the strongest. They served under the Czar willingly, but many noblemen were frightened or disgusted with them, decrying their so-called primitive methods. Czar Romanov listened to their over-sophisticated pleas, and was also encouraged by the Czarina to disband them. It would seem that the whole thing was about 'modernizing Russia.' But Yanalimov and his unit refused to change, and would not leave the service when dismissed. In protest, they destroyed a few villages near Moscow in an effort to have vengeance. But retribution came in the form of the imperial army. Most of the Cossacks were killed in a hail of gunfire, but Yanalimov and a few of his most trusted lieutenants escaped into Siberia. Then they headed for Vladivostok, and caught a ship to Japan."  
  
"And you know all this how?"  
  
"The Russian army could follow the trail of slaughtered settlements. Those men are insane."  
  
"So what exactly are they doing in Japan?"  
  
"They intend to force your government into going to war with the Czar. Yanalimov was always fascinated with the samurai. He considered Japan as a worthy adversary for Russia. He intends to get revenge."  
  
"And... what's that got to do with Sweden? This all seems very far- fetched, if you ask me."  
  
"It's all about good will. No Russian soldier is willing to come here, but Sweden has had severe conflicts with Russia in the past. They've sent me over to stop the madman in order to patch up relations."  
  
Saito nearly knocked over the small table between the two as he leapt up.  
  
"Why did you agree to that?! All you'll do is save face!" he shouted, confused.  
  
"You need to work on your geography, Hajime. Sweden is an empire, if you didn't know," Wilkholm replied coolly. "We've got some serious rebellions. We have to stay on good terms with Russia. We can't afford another war right now. And you should care that I'm willing to do this. If Yanalimov succeeds, then countless Japanese citizens will be killed!"  
  
"Couldn't Sweden use you to handle the disputes over there?"  
  
"I am confident that everything will work out fine. And I need a challenge. I've beaten down every local champion bare-handed about three times now. There's something else I haven't quite mentioned, though."  
  
"Which would be?"  
  
"I hear you're familiar with Kenshin Himura, correct?"  
  
"Yes. I was there when he defeated Makoto Shishio. And I fought him once. What about him?"  
  
"I'm gonna need help with this thing. There's another variable on the part of the Japanese."  
  
"I'm listening," the policeman reassured, finally calming down.  
  
"Someone who goes by the name of Mishazuma Marihama," the soldier revealed.  
  
"The name doesn't sound quite Japanese."  
  
"I'm sure he's insane. Nobody knows his birth name, but he created it from bits and pieces of your language. But that's beside the point. Marihama is one of the few remaining manslayers of your revolution. He was an underling of Shishio's when the Meiji came to power. And he's as angry with them as Yanalimov is with the Czar. The two are collaborating to bring the countries against each other. Marihama, however, just wants to see blood shed, though he prefers imperialist blood. The man is a monster. All he really knows is how to kill. His Japanese is said to be poor and incomprehensible at times. But he knows a lot of Russian."  
  
"Now, how to do you know all this?"  
  
"I came here over land until I reached the Sea of Japan. I've tracked down all the information I can from the Russians at checkpoints along the Siberian railroads. But you should know that the United States is in on this, too. American sailors encountered him on an island in the Pacific Ocean on their way to Japan under Commodore Perry in 1853. They pitied his state, and decided to grant his request to return to his homeland. It was very strange, really. They seemed to fall under his power. He's like Jinei Udou, that Kurogasa freak who showed up when the Battosai first came to Tokyo, in his manipulation of chi. No one really knows how he got out there, or why. But Marihama was here for the revolution, during which he fought for the imperialists. When Shishio was 'executed' by the Meiji government, he went completely mad."  
  
"Why hasn't he appeared until now?" Saito asked, now quite bored.  
  
"They exiled him to Hokkaido before he knew what happened. He could've headed back by stealing a boat, but Marihama intended to hone his skills with the sword. I've done what I can to interrogate foreign and Japanese officials who were in the loop. That's where this is coming from. They spoke clearly and concisely for me. The point is, Yanalimov's Cossacks and Marihama's group of manslayers are gathering together to start a war that's gonna be blamed on Russia, and will happen first in Japan. I'm gonna need help. Millions could be killed in something they don't know about. I need you to point me in the direction of Tokyo, Hajime Saito."  
  
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End Part 1  
  
How was that? Part 2's up already, but I'd like some feedback on this one before you read on. 


	2. Wilkholm's Arrival, Part 2

Chapter 1: Part 2  
  
"Very well," the policeman approved. "The rail line has recently granted us access to Tokyo, though it's restricted to those who can afford it, which means pompous diplomats and tycoons. Anyway, I'd wager you've exchanged your kronas for yen."  
  
"Yeah," Wilkholm confirmed.  
  
"Go to the station and ask for Tokyo. Tell them you're here on police business, and they'll let you by. When you get to Tokyo, you could ask around for the Kamiya Kasshin dojo, or Kenshin Himura. I just hope you know what you're doing, Tomas. I honestly had no idea what was going on, and it's very, very hard to be better at intelligence gathering than I am. Good luck, and don't get yourself killed."  
  
"You still think this is all foolishness, don't you?" the Swede accused.  
  
"You're one-hundred-percent correct. I'm just following orders from the higher-ups who don't want their superiors to know what's going on, whether it is or not," Saito half-growled. The knight was offended.  
  
"Very well. I'll be leaving then. I've done well to pack heavy. There's five more weapons on me besides my pike, Hajime. And two of them can blow your brains out. The rest of my luggage is already at the station. Good evening."  
  
The foreigner got up and left for the ticket counters with no further reaction from the policeman. The reunion wasn't a friendly one. It'd been a long time since Wilkholm had spoken with Saito. Their last rendezvous was prior to the revolution. The two had just been boys, Tomas seven and Hajime eleven. The young Saito had been impressed by the skill shown by a son of two Swedish nobles visiting Japan just after it had been reopened to the world. They didn't speak the same tongue, but still communicated well. Calling each other by name for that one day, the youths compared skill with simple wooden weapons. Wilkholm had already been Saito's height, despite the four-year gap in their ages. They got along very well, but then had to nearly forget about each other for twenty-four years. Tomas' wealthy family allowed for the two to correspond by translated letters once each year, though the knight could now read and write Japanese. The Swede had known about his friend's marriage, and the Japanese man was informed likewise of the Scandinavian union of souls that had occurred several years prior.  
"I just hope he hasn't decided to hang me out to dry," Wilkholm said finally as he reached the station. Four large suitcases were waiting by the rails. These things contained his extra clothes and weapons, as well as a few personal articles and a few stacks of paperwork that were virtually equivalent to books. The foreigner walked over to the closing ticket counter, and put some yen down on the ledge.  
  
"One ticket to Tokyo. First class. I'm here on police business."  
  
"Sir, you need to be a VIP to ride this late, and..." the clerk began, and then began to gape at Tomas' immense size. The man threw the ticket to Wilkholm as if it were going to bite him. "Err...I'm sure someone of your... uhh... stature has somewhere important to go! Please enjoy your train ride! It'll be here in just a few! Good evening!"  
  
"Well, that was odd," the Swede commented as the man slammed down the window of the booth and ran off frantically. "You'd think he'd never seen somebody over six feet before. I just hope I'm not taking a seat from anyone who's actually important."  
  
Tomas picked up his suitcases, one in each hand and one under each arm, and waited for about fifteen minutes. A train finally pulled in, and the doors were opened by a sleepy conductor. Wilkholm tossed him the ticket stub as he awoke with a start. The Japanese man shook as the knight boarded the train, and slowly drew back from the door.  
  
"Th-th-this train is bound for T-Tokyo, sir," the far shorter railroad employee called in after him. "I-is that y-your int-inte-intended d-destination?"  
  
"Yes, thank you very much."  
  
"Y-you're w-welcome!"  
  
"Perhaps the moonlight makes me look really imposing. I don't need them to get all frightened of someone who's gonna be a big help in the near future," the Nordic soldier wondered as the doors were closed reluctantly and he set down his baggage in his own private car. The train started up, and Tomas took a seat. It was certainly a nice car. There were ornate wrought-iron lanterns inside, and they cast a soft yellow glow on their surroundings. The seats were all upholstered in fine cotton cloth, and very comfortable. Wilkholm took a glance at the people in the adjacent segment of the train. They were all in formal dress. Apparently this was a banquet trip. He wasn't amused.  
  
"How ridiculous. The rich of the rest of the planet just have to make everything into a fancy affair. They make the galas my parents still attend look humble. Oh well. I need a good rest."  
  
Tomas leaned against the window and fell asleep after gazing at the countryside for what seemed like hours. The landscape wasn't very interesting after dark, and it was nearly midnight. Wilkholm didn't dream about Yanalimov's Cossacks, or Marihama's manslayers, or his noble upbringing, or even his encounter with Saito. Instead, he saw himself with his wife when the two were in their teens. It was spring outside of Stockholm, Sweden's capital. The trees were full of green leaves, and the couple sat on a river bank, their backs to a great, green meadow, with snowcapped mountains in the distance. They were dressed in simple European clothes. Elena's light blonde hair was adorned with a wreath of flowers. She smiled at him, and her big green eyes stared deep into his own. He grinned back, and they began to laugh. In unison, the young lovers looked across the river towards the forest. On the opposite bank, Tomas saw another pair. They looked slightly older, though, and they were Japanese. The man had long red hair done into a ponytail, oddly purple eyes, and a cross-shaped scar on his cheek. He wore a plain robe, with a sword at his waist. The girl whose head was on the mystery man's shoulder had black hair and strangely blue eyes. She was wearing a red kimono, and had her hair in a blue ribbon. The two sets of lovers met eyes for what seemed like an eternity.  
  
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And there you are. I've got a good idea of where I want to take this, so:  
  
Whatcha think? I'd like some reviews, if you could. You can bet the next chapter will be more interesting.  
  
I promise! 


	3. Big Swede In Little Tokyo

I might as well continue. I've got some big plans in the meantime. Now, history buffs, don't get angry with one of your own kind: I've done some serious research and found that Hajime Saito was a real person, though he had no secret friendship with any massive Nordic soldier. And Tomas Wilkholm wasn't real, and neither were Dragomir Yanalimov or Mishazuma Marihama. But they ARE MINE. Do remember:  
  
Rurouni Kenshin, on the other hand, is not. I do not own, "dominate," or "school" it in anyway whatsoever. Moving on:  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chapter 3: Big Swede In Little Tokyo  
  
The huge, sleeping form in its own personal train car yawned loudly and stretched in its seat. Wilkholm opened his eyes to the mid-morning light and blinked them several times until they adjusted. He looked around, finding that his baggage was intact and the doors had been left open. Tomas got up, made sure he didn't hit his head on the ceiling, and picked up his four small boulders of suitcases. Stepping out, the foreigner inquired to a timid conductor as to why no one had woken him up.  
  
"Well..." the cringing employee began. The knight was puzzled at first, noticed the difference in their heights, and figured it out.  
  
"It's not like I'd try to kill you for waking me up," he reassured. "How long has this train been at Tokyo station, anyway?"  
  
"A-about f-five hours, sir. Th-there had been a f-few delays. I- it's about noon. W-we're v-very sorry!"  
  
"Eh, I needed the rest. All I required was to get to Tokyo, and here I am. Have a nice day!"  
  
The station was much smaller than Kyoto's, but let in more of Japan's scenic beauty. The sky was blue through the branches of trees outside the terminal, and a gentle summer breeze blew by. Wilkholm set down the massive luggage, scratched his head, and stretched once more while drawing the attention of several locals. They stared as he reloaded his cargo and headed down the road towards downtown Tokyo, their eyes locked on his massive pike. He'd actually slept with on his back, and did often. It had its own version of a sheath, which was good for occasions when his impulses overcame common sense.  
  
"It's a nice day today," the Swede remarked as he stepped into the busy marketplace. Suddenly, there was a great rumbling in the space immediately around Tomas. He put a great hand to his stomach. "Whoa, I'm hungry!"  
  
Wilkholm headed down the street until he found a sign that read "The Akabeko." It was a restaurant, judging by the smells coming from inside.  
  
"Nice. Now to just drop as much conspicuousness as I can, which can't be too much..."  
  
The foreigner, noticing even more astonished gazes from the residents, dropped the four great suitcases beside the door and undid some harnesses under his coat. The knight gently set the great pike, still in its sheath, down on the dusty street. He just hoped that no one would notice the five other weapons on him. The Swede's coat hid the two swords at his left side well enough. Wilkholm stepped inside and ignored shocked glances until he was waited on. The waitress was a young girl, barely twelve years old. He raised an eyebrow at how high her voice was, as well as how she didn't stutter as she spoke.  
  
"Hello. My name is Tsubame, and I'll be taking your order today. Please follow me."  
  
When the two reached a booth, Tomas had to move the table over to get in, but eventually found a comfortable position on the floor, being somewhat versed in Japanese social graces. The relatively tiny waitress handed him a menu.  
  
"Would you care for some tea while you order, sir?" she asked. The massive soldier was the same height sitting as the small Tokyo girl was standing, but he still smiled at her.  
  
"I'd like that, Miss Tsubame."  
  
She returned the friendly expression, and headed off to get a kettle and cup. Tomas produced a piece of paper and pen from his coat. He'd been working on a letter to his wife in Sweden. The nobleman read it to himself as he wrote in Swedish during the wait. He'd already made up his mind as to what he'd order.  
  
"Dearest Elena,  
  
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I've arrived safely in Japan, and I'm spending my first morning in Tokyo. The largest people all gape at my height, but the smallest don't seem to notice. This strikes me as odd, but the young are good judges of character. Anyway, I've been missing you since the very moment I left Stockholm. I had a dream about us last night. You're what I try to think about in light of these dire and grim events. My meeting with Hajime Saito in Kyoto last night didn't go very well. He's become a cold man, though he means well. Mr. Saito doesn't act like he cares at all about my mission., and is just following orders. He apparently thinks the idea of a Russian rebel and a Japanese swordsman banding together to start a war is preposterous. Stranger things have happened."  
  
Just then, Tsubame returned and poured him some piping hot tea. Wilkholm folded the letter up and put it away with the pen. He looked at the diminutive waitress, and cocked his head at her.  
  
"I find it odd," he began. "That the tallest men of this city seem to cower in my shadow while you treat me like any other person."  
  
"Err...should I?" she asked, confused.  
  
"Heh. You've got a good heart, Tsubame. Not enough people like you in this world. It strikes me funny, though, that you're not...uh...intimidated by me."  
  
She giggled and raised a finger.  
  
"You remind me of Sanosuke Sagara, mister. Only you're better behaved."  
  
"Hmm...Sanosuke Sagara...I've heard of him. Not quite sure who he is, though," the knight pondered.  
  
"That'd be me," a husky voice sounded suddenly from beside the waitress. A reasonably tall man with large muscles and equally large hair held up by a red headband stood outside the booth. His outfit was entirely white, and he wore his shirt open. On the back, the symbol for "bad" was written. "Seems I've got quite the reputation these days."  
  
He extended a hand to Wilkholm, who shook it in greeting.  
  
"The name's Tomas Wilkholm. Tomas will do fine for the both of you," the Swede explained.  
  
"Call me Sano, and I see you've met Tsubame," the tallish Japanese man replied as he remained standing. "You look like a pretty strong guy. Was that your stuff outside?"  
  
"Sure was. You're no slouch either, as I've heard from someone you know a little too well, apparently."  
  
"Huh? Who're you referring to?"  
  
"Hajime Saito."  
  
"And here I was having a good day," Sano complained, rubbing the old shoulder wound he had gotten from the former Shinsengumi Squad leader. Suddenly, all three jerked their heads towards the sound of a scream and dishes breaking.  
  
"Miss Tae!" Tsubame squeaked, pointing towards the entrance.  
  
"What in the..." Sagara exclaimed as he ran towards the clatter. "Tsubame, stay back!"  
  
Sanosuke headed out of Wilkholm's range of vision. He was shocked to find that Tae Seikihara, a woman who worked at the Akabeko, was backed against the wall with a knife held to her throat, a broken plate on the floor nearby. A group of thugs had shown up to rain on everyone's parade.  
  
"Show us where you keep the money!" the dagger-wielding ringleader demanded of the horrified manager. Sano arrived, ready to land a fist, and prepared to pick up one of the cronies. Thankfully, he caught himself with a hand barely an inch from a man's throat, seeing that they had taken a hostage.  
  
"Hey, who do you think you are?!" the ex-fighter-for-higher demanded.  
  
"That's not for you to know!" the ugly-faced boss spat. "Now show us the money or she gets it!"  
  
"Do what he says!" Tae squealed, trying to shrink back against the wall. The owner started to go for the safe, but there was a flash of blue and yellow, and the thief holding a hostage felt icy metal against his temple.  
  
"Back off," Tomas ordered coldly. "You fools think you can just do whatever with no apparent consequence! Well, you're looking at one."  
  
The leader froze, his underlings frightened out of their minds. Wilkholm decided that he'd explain a little bit of his revolver's make information.  
  
"This is a Stockholm Special. Only the highest-ranking officers in the Swedish military can even afford one. Big, ain't she? Works pretty well for me. This is a revolver. I don't have to reload it for ten shots. That means I can put ten bullets in your head, and the lady would walk away unharmed. I'm not going to tell you again: let...her...go."  
  
The crook put his knife down. The foreigner kept his firearm in place.  
  
"The rest of you can drop your weapons."  
  
Several other blades were cautiously placed on the floor. However, one of the thugs tried to draw a gun on the knight. Keeping his Stockholm Special on the leader's temple, Wilkholm shot the weapon out of the intruder's hand. Everyone looked in the direction of the rifle on Tomas' side, aimed towards the offender, who was now holding his damaged hand. Tae took the moment of astonishment as an opportunity to get behind Sano, who was cemented to the right of the gun-toting Swede. No one moved for the few minutes prior to the police arriving and taking the men and their weapons away. The foreigner finally broke the silence as Tae finally emerged from behind the ex-fighter-for-higher.  
  
"Thugs like that just never learn. They think they're so tough, but once you threaten to rough them up, they go to pieces," he explained. "Makes them nice and gullible. The Stockholm Special only has eight chambers. They'll be in for awhile."  
  
"Gee, thanks, Mister...umm..." Tae began, blushing under her bandana.  
  
"Wilkholm. Tomas Wilkholm. You can call me Tomas, Miss Seikihara."  
  
Everyone gasped. Wilkholm glanced around to see what was the matter. In a few moments, he realized that he'd brought about some dramatic irony.  
  
"I heard someone say her last name on my way in, and I saw Miss..."  
  
"Err... most everybody 'round here calls me Tae. That was a pretty formal customer. He insists on using everyone's last name."  
  
"I see."  
  
The knight turned back to Sano.  
  
"Are there normally ruffians like those around these parts?" he asked the Japanese brawler.  
  
"It's been awhile. I cleaned out a few when I first came here, although my set actually put up half a fight. Tokyo's a pretty peaceful city," Sagara explained. "Those guys were certainly weirdos. Well, I'm glad to have you around, Tomas. I was just saying 'hi,' and now Tae's going to remind me of my T-A-B."  
  
"I heard that!" the Akebeko employee snarled.  
  
"Anyway, I've gotta run. I'm renting out at the Kamiya Dojo right outside of downtown Tokyo. You can't miss it. You could stay there while you're here. I've got a few friends who'd probably enjoy meeting a foreign fighter like yourself. I couldn't help but notice your accent. See ya!"  
  
Sano headed out into the street and was gone. Wilkholm proceed to assist Tsubame and Tae to clean up the broken dishes, and promptly headed back to his booth, the two in tow.  
  
"Hey, I appreciate the help. I'm gonna let ya eat on us," the older of the women offered.  
  
"I'll take you up on that, but I'm not sure Tsubame can handle the order I've got in mind," the knight gallantly accepted.  
  
"I've served a sumo wrestler before! I'll consider this a challenge!" Tsubame explained with a raised finger, trying hard not to laugh. Tomas hadn't eaten breakfast, and it was almost time for lunch. He ordered as much meat as he could, and by the time he was done, the Akebeko was out of a few ingredients. Wilkholm headed out once he'd consumed nearly ten courses, leaving Tsubame and Tae stunned. Outside, the Swede reattached the pike to his back and picked up his four massive suitcases. He paid a few local boys to watch after his massive baggage, and vanished into the forest outside of the city. The knight found a good-sized clearing far from civilization, and took his coat and pike off.  
  
"Now it's time to prepare for tonight. Wearing myself out could be the best thing right now. From what I hear, Himura's really fast, but not too strong," the foreigner planned. He felt around for his weapons. On his right side were his guns and a large axe. Illegal as they were, his swords were also intact. One was a large, claymore-like blade, the other a sturdy Swedish rapier. It was unusually long and thick for that type of sword, but Wilkholm planned to use it to fight the Battosai come night. The knight practiced first with his rapier, then his claymore, and his axe after that. With each, his speed was incredible. He could barely be seen with the naked eye. Finally, he took the sheath from his pike and lifted it off the ground with reasonably little effort. Swinging the massive weapon, Tomas wasn't quite a blur, but still moved with great velocity. He began to bring down trees in his metallic rampage. Great ditches would suddenly appear in the ground as he passed.  
  
"I've not lost too much over my trip. I'd say I'm doing alright."  
  
Wilkholm alternated with between the four weapons for hours, stopping to rest only thrice. He finally quit, put his jacket back on, reattached the pike to its sheath, slipped the masked weapon onto his back and redid the restraints. It was getting dark, and the knight was hungry once more. He found his great suitcases intact, and paid the extremely bored youths handsomely. Guarding those bags was a matter of national security, after all. From there, Tomas visited the Akebeko once more, and this time was made to pay for his meal. A few hundred yen poorer, the Swede set off for the Kamiya Dojo, but stopped in the woods for about half an hour to let his dinner digest, and to run through his strategy.  
  
"Guess I just try not to kill him. Then again, I hear that his movement techniques are referred to as 'God-like Speed.' Best be careful for my own sake as well. I'm pretty sure I can get a good confrontation going without much talking. I'll leave my stuff here for now."  
  
The knight deposited his pike, guns, axe, claymore, and suitcases in the forest, and headed back towards the road. Only the rapier would be necessary for the fight. The Kamiya Dojo was just up a flight of steps. Wilkholm had located it easily enough, as Sagara had said. It was dark enough for even one such as himself to move about reasonably unnoticed. Tomas climbed the steps and vanished into the bush nearby. Kenshin Himura was inside the high-walled gates of the dojo, doing a few last-minute chores in the open courtyard. The Swede couldn't hear anyone else, and chose to make his move. Without the weight of the pike on his back, he easily leapt from the shrubbery and over the wall in one great motion. The foreigner landed with surprisingly little impact, drew his rapier, and rushed towards the redheaded samurai with a blinding speed that few besides the Battosai could even comprehend.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
So, whatcha think? Anybody? Anyway, if you did happen to read this, I'd really, really, really like a review. It's long, sure enough, but it's easier to not break it into two chapters. The action starts up soon enough. Brace yourselves... and wait. 


	4. Hitokiri Battosai vs The Swedish Blade

Alright! A review. Much appreciated, Ms. Zeal! Sorry to disappoint you, though...  
  
BUT ENOUGH WITH THE SPOILERS!  
  
You're going to have to read this if you want to know what happens. Anyway, I still do not own Rurouni Kenshin.  
  
My sanity for a useful generic disclaimer with some wit in it.  
  
FINALLY going to put this up. I know I'm going to misspell something in this chapter, so let me know. Any Swedish I use in here is real Swedish, but is probably used improperly.  
  
Moving on...

Chapter 4: Hitokiri Battosai vs. The Swedish Blade  
  
Tomas hurtled towards Kenshin and drew his rapier a few feet from his opponent, who had noticed, and was about to make his own move, if only out of necessity. Himura had a reverse-blade sword, but Wilkholm was using a sharpened blade, and could kill with a single stroke. The samurai had his weapon out in a guard position in the blink of an eye. Rapier and katana clashed, the moonlight reflecting madly off the steel. The foreigner grinned as he leapt to the opposite side of the courtyard in a single, nimble step. He was also the first to speak.  
  
"Kenshin Himura, apprentice of Seijurou Hiko, master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Style; apparently you're as fast as I hear," the knight complimented. "Care for another round of Battojutsu?"  
  
"Who are you, and what are doing here?!" Kenshin demanded. Tomas' eyes widened for a moment, and his face shifted into a sly smile.  
  
"Why, I do believe the rush I get from just the thought of fighting a man like you has caused me to forget my manners. The name's Tomas Wilkholm. They used to call you Hitokiri Battosai, I've heard. It's impossible that you've heard of me prior to today, but among enemies, I'm called the Swedish Blade."  
  
"Are you just some thrillseeker with a sword? I don't understand your intentions."  
  
"I was boring."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Err... Bored. My Japanese gets a little weak occasionally. I was bored of my vacation, so I decided to do something interesting. Nice country you've got here."  
  
"You obviously have ulterior motives, that you do," Kenshin rebuked. "Now, explain."  
  
"Where was I?" Tomas asked himself, seemingly ignoring his opponent's inquiry. "Oh, that's right..."  
  
He shouted something in Swedish, launched himself into the air, vanished, and came down hard, sword-first, onto the space where Himura had been the previous second, mercilessly bringing his blade into contact with the Battosai's.  
  
"Was that a Ryojutsin?" Kenshin asked himself under his breath. The far shorter of the two was amazed at his opponent's reflexes, but made a strange expression, his eyes narrowing in an oddly sinister manner. The wanderer flew back, and his pupils fired a blast of fearful chi at the knight, who snarled like a wolf, his own two visual organs tapering. Blues and purples flashed in the air as the Swordsman Spirits of the combatants collided. The mental attacks cancelled out neatly, and Kenshin couldn't believe it. Wilkholm frowned for the first time in the brawl.  
  
"Well, that was interesting enough, but you should never bare your soul during a fight with someone you don't know. You're currently trying to exorcise a demon of sorts from your persona. Battosai the Manslayer was what you were back then. Too bad I wasn't here for it. A crying shame. However, I'd probably have killed you, so we can actually be thankful."  
  
And, for the first time, Himura gave the hint of a smile.  
  
"That you might have," he confirmed. "Seeing as you would've used a gun against me, should the occasion present itself."  
  
"So Sanosuke told you all about me. You should know that my intentions, Mr. Himura," the Swede began, and then stopped. He cleared his throat, partially resheathed his rapier, and began again. "My purpose here is a noble one. I need to make sure that you're in tip-top shape for it, because the lives of millions are in jeopardy."  
  
The red-headed rurouni's eyes opened wide, and he also sheathed his reverse-blade sword. He shut his eyes and waved his hands, trying to give Tomas the signal to take his right hand off the hilt of his Scandinavian blade.  
  
"You've gotten my attention, Mr. Wilkholm! That you have. I assure that I have kept myself in peak condition!"  
  
But the foreigner wasn't deterred by the native's goofy expression.  
  
"Don't think you'll get out of a fight so easily, Mr. Himura. You've managed to get me quite interested in this Hiten Mitsurugi Style of yours. I need to see the _Ama Kakaru Ryo No_ _Hirameki_ first. Then we'll talk."  
  
"You know it's name? You've certainly done your..."  
  
The knight's form vanished as the samurai put himself into guard position, his weapon ready for a fast draw.  
  
"_Sverige Formge Konungariket Blade!"  
_  
Tomas reappeared a few paces from Kenshin, rapier bared and ready to strike any of eight targets on the Battosai's person.  
  
"Like the second-to-final attack, but... different. It works, either way!" Himura thought. He'd have to use the ultimate attack of the Hiten Mitsurugi Style to get out of this one.  
  
"_Hiten Mitsurugi Style Ama Kakaru Ryo No Hirameki!"_  
  
The very millisecond the reverse-blade sword left its sheath, Wilkholm had shifted his rapier to a defensive position, and kept coming. The samurai's eyes widened as the two blades collided with the force of a thunderclap, and a sonic boom shook the dojo. The area immediately around them was blown into a cloud of very fine dust. As it cleared, the two great warriors were still locked in what had become a no-holds-barred combat of swords. Tomas' first slash parried in front of Kenshin's face, and the Swede countered a fierce cut headed for his chest. The taller man jabbed at the relative dwarf's stomach, and the target dodged to the right, vanished, and reappeared above the aggressor.  
  
"_Hiten Mitsurugi Style Ryojutsin!"_  
  
The knight was ready, and rapier met katana once more, the force of the Battosai's attack making the Swedish Blade's boots dig straight into the ground. The foreigner proceeded to force the native back up and off of him. Himura flipped away and landed on one knee. He was puzzled. European swords shouldn't be able to withstand the force of his blows.  
  
"Your weapon should've cracked from the strength of my attacks," Kenshin stated matter-of-factly. "How is it that yours is intact?"  
  
"Well, you're the conceited one," Tomas replied, holding out his rapier. "But, you have a point. Most western swords that you're familiar with wouldn't last too long against a well-made Japanese one, like your own. But my little friend here is different. Somebody thought of techniques much like those of your blacksmiths, and then took them to his grave without telling anybody. A shame, I say, but at least I've got a good blade. As well, this rapier has something else very special about her. She's forged of Damascus steel. It's really strong stuff, but few know how to smelt it. If you don't mind, I'd like to continue."  
  
"But..." the samurai protested. It was too late, though. The knight had commenced his next special attack. He pointed his blade directly at the North Star, holding it high above his head.  
  
"_Sverige Formge Gamla Nord!"_ the Swede roared as he flashed forward and brought the rapier back and around to the front.  
  
"A slower technique, but there's something odd about it..." the Japanese man pondered as his opponent surged forward. Wilkholm was within Himura's counterattack range when he made a transition. The Scandinavian swept his arm upwards, spun, brought the blade down, met with the ex- manslayer's katana once, and flashed backwards. He pulled his steel back, seemed to prepare for a Shiden Blade technique, and raised it to the North Star again, focusing the starlight onto the flat of the blade. Tomas launched again, shooting forward, his rapier projecting to the side, its edge cutting the wind. Kenshin couldn't make much sense of the attack, but everything became painfully clear when the Swede swung around his back once more, switched sword hands mid-swing, and lunged forward left arm first The samurai had less than a second to react, and chose to move under the blow to be safest. He slung himself low to the ground, and prepared to strike. Something was wrong with just avoiding the technique. But before Himura had a chance to slash, and great kick caught his chest, bringing him up in a blue and purple arc, Wilkholm somehow following his opponent's movements. The knight had the unnatural ability to change direction with extreme accuracy, and, as Kenshin realized, could do it undetected.  
  
"Wha..." was all he could muster before the air was forced from his lungs and he began to hurtle upwards. The Battosai had to fight a blackout while he was dragged from the ground. He hit the dirt hard, and had the blink of an eye to roll from the trajectory of the special attack's final phase. In that moment, something clicked inside of Kenshin. Maybe the collision of their chi had loosed it. Maybe it was just the intensity of the knight's attack. Tomas came down with his rapier and made a small ditch barely an inch from his opponent.  
  
"Hmm... Few are fast enough to escape the Gamla Nord. I think I've found a good man for the job," he figured out loud. "Now then... Whoa!"  
  
Kenshin came up full-force at the Swede, who wouldn't have enough time to react. Wilkholm hadn't factored in exactly what Battosai the Manslayer _was_. Himura's eyes were a burning yellow as he brought his blade up, seeming to slow time itself down.  
  
"_Hiten Mitsurugi Style_..."  
  
"What in the..."

Translations: (Swedish)  
_Konungariket_- Kingdom   
_Nord_- North  
_Gamla_- Ancient  
_Sverige_- Sweden  
_Formge_- Style  
  
Well, that was actually kinda hard, but I'm proud of this fight scene. Reviews are most welcome. It's hard to play with two languages at once when you're useless in both. Well...  
  
En öl snälla. ("One beer please.")


End file.
